Under Taker
by Jim Moriarty
Summary: A regular case, turns into a Horror story. Character Death  possibly, if only I got reviews.. R&R Flamers are welcomed, but not encouraged.


Watson strolled sleepily down the road. He arrived in front of their shared bode, where Sherlock told him to rendezvous. After two minutes of waiting, Sherlock pulled up to the curb in a black taxi. Watson hobbled into the car with his lame leg dragged behind.

"What destination are we heading to?" so asked an inquiring Watson

"Why do you have your cane?" Sherlock questioned back

"My therapist warned me that I could send my psychological therapy back months. She said that if I don't use my cane that she would require me to use a wheelchair, in case something terrible happen and my leg starts to hurt again." Watson simply stated back "Now for the destination?"

"Aah, there was corpse found in the cemetery, the body was that of a male in his late twenties early thirties. You know your therapist tends to be quite opinionated." Sherlock stated

"Which cemetery?"

Sherlock pounded on the glass that separated the driver and the passenger and told the driver;

"Go to the Hammersmith cemetery, fast" completely ignoring Watson's last question

"That's it? What has you so giddy over this case?" Watson questioned

"Watson, it is not a case, it is a homicide. Here, these are the pictures of the corpse the inspector sent me. Watson, notice anything strange about the attire? Not something you would wear to be executed, wouldn't you say?" Holmes handed John Watson the phone.

As he flipped threw the photographs of the crime scene he noted out loud "the body is wearing a very expensive suit, by the looks of it the corpse it looks like it is rather fresh, no signs of struggle, what so ever, no signs of trauma and... that's it" as Watson finished his sentence as they pulled up to the police alcove, in the crime scene there was only a dozen cops five people from the forensic sector including Anderson, but he didn't notice Sherlock, and the undertaker who found the body, the undertaker had an angular face framed with dark brunette hair, and dark brown striking eyes which almost looked burgundy.

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><p>Sherlock's giddy expressions changed into his calm persona that defines the whole facade of Sherlock Holmes, the eagerness in his gaze was overcast by a steely coldness. As they stepped out of the cab Watson payed the driver and sent him on his way."You said that it was an execution, what-" in mid sentence Holmes cut him off in saying; "The souls of the shoes are not worn, whatsoever, also he had dinner at the Oeuvre d'art."<p>

"So, what does that mean, and how do you know that he spent his dinnertime at that restaurant?" Watson questioned, yet still rather confused.  
>"He was definitely not in any position to be spending that much on a suit, Y'uy' line $600, note that was a designer suit, for that specific suit. He was obviously meeting someone to make a good impression, to plead, to ward off the execution, but who and the reason of this homicide, these are the questions in which I ask you to harp on, the other details do not pertain to this case, all the other pieces, may perhaps be interesting, yet mindless at best, but since you are so incredibly interested." he stated facetiously took a pause to catch his breath<p>

"Do you notice anything about the ground Watson? It is mucky, but, look at his shoes; they have very little mud in the grip, in the crevices, which leads me into believing that he did not have to walk far to get here and the closest restaurant is also one of the most expensive ones in London and the best place for his attire. It is rather his hair which was extremely telling, was one of the things that set me to the conclusion that he was not a wealthy status, it is a cheap knock off of the salon style brand shampoo, for it leaves a residue of grease. This man's wife doesn't love him anymore,or never did,for you can tell his hair was cut rather nicely cut, since he had no money to get it professionally cut, so his wife or girlfriend must have done it for you cannot blindly get that amount of symmetry, no no he had someone else to do it, but they were not careful, at the tops of the ears many cuts also on the back of his neck. Look at his finger nails." Sherlock started out demeaningly then did a decrescendo into talking to himself. He pointed to the body that lay in front of us now, while at the same time ignored inspector detective Lestrade."Someone who was in a position to buy it would also back it up with a certain level of self grooming and, as you can see finger nails, filthy, no self preservation unlike someone would have in a high wealthy status, should I go on?" Sherlock answered obviously showing intellectual superiority in his own unique intimidating cadence.

Yet not more than twenty feet away on the dampened ground, all onlookers unaware of the shadow lurker. Silently. It was a stalker of the gifted Sociopath. The looming figure was accoutered by a long black trench coat topped with a black fedora with a burgundy band all cloaked with the adumbration of the dastardly trap that lay ahead of the detective who dash, in and out of the luminosity inspected the corpse in great detail, while Watson stood in the glaring sunshine, leaned on the cane that slightly sunk into the earth.

Observed each individual piece of data, with such impressive speed, that astounded all residents at the scene, even the ones who gainsaid. Then the last piece which he inspected was the breast pocket, which a handkerchief was nestled so nicely in the pocket. There was something wrong with the handkerchief it twas cotton while the rest of the suit was polyester and corduroy. With his un-gloved naked hands he carefully took the item off of the body, stood up then inspected it. He noted that it was embroidered by the initials 'R.K.'in golden thread, the cotton was hand woven, astounding work, from, most likely, Germany . The sight of this disturbed the stalker. The figure started to run towards the spot where Sherlock Holmes was standing. Yet the event of Holmes inhaling the aroma of this embroidered napkin out paced the actions of this dark figure who stepped out from the darkness and raced towards the scene. Sherlock Holmes did not allow the neckerchief to fall to the earth, and then tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white.

"Sherlock?" Watson questioned with slight alarm when Watson saw his clenched fists. "Are you alright? SHERLOCK!"

Holmes responded with his eyes widened and trembling, and his; soon to be, lifeless body prostrate across a grave marked with a marble guardian angel which was holding an eroded skull who overlooked the conscious body beneath, this being severely tortured; on the level of extreme physical and mental pain inflicted. Watson threw his cane and rushed to his side, hearing him mumble on and on about how his body grew colder and colder; barely being able to croak out those words, which were so harrowing to the doctor's ears. While Holmes' body was sent into excruciating turmoil, his mind is tried to make a rationalization of what events had crossed their path, has affected him in this way but each time he comes up with an appropriate explanation of what has happened his mind is scarred, and scored testing it pushing it to the edge of insanity and farther. At the same time the figure has found an opening not slowing down it, in seconds, pockets the neckerchief, cuts the detectives fore-arm about one inch in length laceration with a; crimson pocket knife with a silver dragon tattooed along the handle now taken out of concealment, and slips a small parcel into Sherlock Holmes' inside pocket, and at last slipping away. Though the most amazing part of it, Watson was the only one who noticed the extra person in the group which huddled around the body of the great detective, besides the great detective himself. Watson looked up for a second just to lock gazes before the being, agile at the least, scurried away at top speed, to retreat back he into the shadows. John Watson stayed by the broken man to console and buy time for him.  
>Watson lightly grasped Sherlock's wrist feeling a fading pulse that filled his ears with a terror like none to cross his paths before. Restricting tendents, he tried to keep himself focused, but the inevitable soon comes, his mind eventually can't take it, driven to insanity, and his body broken and defeated. The consulting detective's breathing faded and seemingly disappeared while at the same time his pulse does the same his arm goes limp in the doctor's hand. CPR comes and passes and he is pronounced dead with his mouth open about a millimeter, and his pain stricken blue eyes with a tear frozen on the edge; closed by the morgue officials who came in the white van that the doctor knew so well which came at the same time of the ambulance.<p>

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><p><strong>I wrote this a while back, was bored and the writing is a bit over the top with using a thesaurus, sorry! will be posting other stories, andor more chapters, if we see about the reviews ;) **

**-_Rain_**


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